Esquires
by secretaryofsillywalks
Summary: What was that saying? Don't dip your quill in the company inkpot?
1. Inkpot

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

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"Damn it Granger! I can't find anything in this ridiculous mess you call a filing system," Blaise Zabini grumbled as he searched fruitlessly through piles of manila envelopes and fancy papers decorated with the company's letterhead. Blaise groaned and slumped into his, rather, Granger's rolly chair. He loosened his tie. "You need a lesson in organization," He stated as he began to put the files in alphabetical order.

"Just because you can't find what you're looking for doesn't mean I'm unorganized. It just means you're looking in the wrong spot," Hermione smiled as she plucked the file – Brackner, Henry – from his hands, and replaced it with a stack of little business cards. "Those are for you, Blaise Zabini, Esquire, fresh off the press. What are you looking for?"

"The file for Greengrass, Astoria."

"Oh, Malfoy's wife." Hermione said as she leaned across Blaise and grabbed her file. Blaise supposed she smelled pretty nice, and took another discreet sniff.

"What? Is she? I didn't know." Everyone was married, or getting married these days. Blaise frowned as Hermione moved away and tossed the file into his lap, scattering papers around. He smiled gleefully as he straightened the papers within the folder. "Where did you find this? Better yet, how did you find this?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was between Mathews, Anne and Gruber, Hans. And I found it, easily, because I know how I organized my set of files," she narrowed her eyes, "What do you need that file for anyway? She is my client…"

Blaise, in an attempt to look suave and relaxed, tried to place his feet on Hermione's desk, only to nearly topple over in his chair as it began to roll away. He settled for looking as bored as humanly possible. "Draco asked me for a favor," he replied vaguely. Really, if she used her brain she could figure something out, he was, after all, in Family Law.

"But that could be considered an invasion of privacy! You can't just read my clients' files without telling me why!" Hermione went to snatch the file back, but Blaise stood and held it over her head.

"Too late, Granger. You should've thought of that before you gave me the file. Besides, we work together, your files are my files, and my files are your files."

"I highly doubt that's how it works Zabini." She was right, of course. He, being in Family Law, didn't really share files with Hermione, who was more interested in Civil Rights. Though, Blaise did wonder why Draco's wife had a file in Civil Rights…

"So how did you organize these files? It…it just doesn't make sense. It's an absolute mess!" Blaise gestured towards Hermione's desk. Inwardly he smirked at his exceptional diversionary tactics.

Hermione placed her hands on her hips and huffed. "I'm not telling you!" She turned back to her desk and began placing the alphabetical files back into their proper place.

"What! Why not?" Blaise pouted. He very nearly stomped his foot, Astoria's file still in hand. A woman he once dated, Monica was her name, told him he would never be in a fulfilling relationship because he was so immature. He hadn't seen her point until he met Weasley and Granger. Talk about unfulfilling.

"Because…" Hermione paused, the file of Ackles, Mike in her hand. "You'll think it's silly."

Blaise nodded, he probably would. "That goes without question. I'll buy you lunch." At the Three Broomsticks, he added silently. He knew that was one of her favorite places to eat. Plus, Rosemerta always gave him a discount.

"Zabini-" Hermione said, weakly protesting his offer.

"And a drink after work," Blaise paused, his finger on his chin, thinking, "Firewhiskey." Firewhiskey because Granger needed something strong to help her relax after a hard day of work. She was far too stressed, in his own expert opinion.

"Zabini-" Hermione sounded slightly annoyed now. He just needed one more offer…

"And I'll cover for you on Tuesday. Since it's, you know, your birthday. And I'll tell that git Weasley to leave you alone. Forever. " There. That should do it. He knew Ron was a sore spot. Hermione might as well call off the wedding. It was a continuing joke between them that Blaise would use his Slytherin attributes to protect her from Weasley. Only he wasn't joking.

"I like Ron! He's my fiancé!" She protested loudly, shoving Ackles' file into its proper place with more force than necessary.

"Yes, you like him. Like. Poor man, marrying a woman who likes him." Blaise grinned. He knew he was pushing his luck. "You know as well as I know..."

"Fine. You win. I'll tell you." She pulled her hair back into a bun and cradled her current client's file against her chest.

Blaise smiled smugly and leaned against his desk, patiently waiting for her answer. "I organize them by the most poignant memory I have of them."

Blaise blinked. "That's it? That doesn't even make sense!" He threw his hands into the air. Nothing she did ever made sense. Sometimes he wondered how she graduated top of the class.

"Of course it does!"

He crossed his arms, caught sight of his cufflink, decided to uncross his arms and clean the cufflinks. "Then how are they in any order?"

Hermione smirked. "Alphabetically by the location the …interaction took place at, or…well, any significant word really."

"You must have a good memory then," Blaise said dryly. He wouldn't let her know that he was intrigued. It was an interesting concept, and he wondered what her favorite – most poignant, whatever – memories were.

"It's quite simple really, Zabini. I'll always think of Neville cutting off Nagini's head. That happened at Hogwarts, so it goes with the H's. I remember when Viktor Krum – well, it goes with the L's."

Blaise straightened. "What happened with Krum?" Krum. Another man he would have to fight off. Blaise shook his head, what had gotten into him lately?

"I'm not telling you and no amount of bribery will get me too!" She stated, her face pink with embarrassment."

Blaise let it slid, this time. It was no doubt embarrassing. He would bring up this conversation when he needed something to blackmail Granger with, preferably when Weasley was around. Merlin, he hated Weasley. He knew Granger deserved better. "So Mathews, Gruber, and Greengrass are in what section?"

"The K's," Hermione stated simply. She sat at her desk and began flipping through her current file, taking notes.

Blaise watched her intently for a moment. "And?"

"And what, Zabini?" Her quill paused and was hovering over her parchment.

"Well, why are they there?" He prompted.

Hermione let out a long exaggerated sigh, "Ms. Mathews I met while on business in Kassel, Germany," she wrote something on her parchment, "Mr. Gruber and I discussed the concept of Kinetic energy – it's a muggle thing - in a waiting room," she dipped her quill in ink, "and I met Greengrass, , at King's Cross."

"Where will that file go, then?" Blaise asked, pointing toward the file with his chin.

"Mr. Jenkins? Well, I suppose he will go with the W's, under walk-in. Why are you being so nosey? And don't think I forgot about why you want Astoria's file."

"Where would my file go?" He asked. He could have punched himself. Why on earth would he ask something like that?

Hermione was quiet for a little while. "Well, I suppose I would put you under… I'm not sure what you would go under." Blaise didn't know how he felt about that answer. "Why?" She turned to face him.

"I'm just trying to learn the system. I guess…" He shrugged and placed Astoria's file in his filing system, under the G's.

"You guess what?"

"Nothing Granger, I was just thinking out loud," What was that saying? Don't dip your quill in the company inkpot? Don't mess with engaged women? Well, he never was one for following rules. "What say you take a break and we go out for that drink, eh?"

"I don't know," Hermione looked at her watch, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Blaise scoffed. "Don't worry about Weasley! He can let you out every once in a while, you know."

Hermione smiled slightly and set aside her file. "Well, I guess Mr. Jenkins can wait….if you tell me what Draco wanted you to look up."

"If you tell me what happened with Krum," Blaise countered. He handed Hermione her jacket.

"Never in a million years," she said as she buttoned her coat.

"Well, maybe you can explain Kenthetic Energy." She laughed. He loved her laugh. Damn. He loved her.

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**Please review! I may continue this story, so let me know what you thought :)**


	2. Drinks

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**After a lot of thought, and finally coming up with something that resembles a plot-line, I have decided to continue this fic. Please enjoy!

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Just what did she see in him?

Blaise Zabini, Esquire for the Ministry of Magic International Office of Law: Family Law Division, thought gloomily as he nursed his third Firewhiskey. He raised the cup to his lips and took another swig, his eyes never leaving the forms of the laughing, happy Golden Trio (plus the rather attractive She-Weasel).

Figures.

She _would_ come to The Three Broomsticks for her birthday dinner, he thought grumpily. Why had he even decided to come to this place for his relaxing, de-stressing after-work drink? If he were being honest with himself, Blaise would have thought about how he knew The Three Broomsticks was her favorite place, his least favorite place as it was always overly crowded, and he had come here with the hope of catching a glimpse of her lithe figure. That figure, he observed, was blocked from his view by a possessively wrapped large pale, freckled arm – which belonged to none other than that insufferable ginger Ron Weasley.

Blaise grunted in disgust. So much for his drink being relaxing and de-stressing.

"Rough day at work Zabini?" Rosmerta asked as she sauntered up to him.

Indeed it had been. His own caseload had been huge that morning, and he had been handling all of Granger's new clients – assuring them that she would be back in no time at all.

Blaise turned his attention to the witch in question, casting her sidelong glances from the bar.

He smiled slightly; he could not help it, lovesick as he was.

Tomorrow she would return to work, perhaps slightly hung-over, all her files properly organized – by her system at least – and offer a small thank you for his work. Everything would be back to normal. Or, as normal as Blaise would allow it to be, he did enjoy pestering her for a dinner date (which he had also promised not that long ago).

Blaise had not forgotten her odd filing system. All of today's new clients had been filed under B – _for birthday_, she had informed him. He had found it odd that she had stuttered over that word, birthday, perhaps she was going to say something else. For a moment, Blaise had thought she was going to say his name. He had teased her for it, nothing got past him after all, and he simply could not refuse another chance to ruffle her feathers.

_"Bl-birthday? What is that?" Blaise asked, rolling toward her in her Muggle rolling office chair._

_Hermione rolled her eyes, "I meant birthday, Blaise, I just stuttered." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Get out of my chair."_

_Blaise ignored her, deciding instead to focus on rearranging the trinkets on her desk, stopping only when she slapped his hand away. "Were you going to say Blaise? It sounded like you were going to say Blaise."_

_He smiled smugly. She had wanted to say his name, almost did. He could tell. "Can't stop thinking about me can you, my name on your tongue like that? You are not imagining me naked now, are you? Wait- I give you permission to gaze adoringly." He did his best to lounge seductively in the office chair. She walked across the room, he swiveled the chair to face her._

_"Will you stop that?" she asked exasperatedly. "And get out of my chair! You'll have it all to yourself tomorrow. Help me."_

_Blaise rolled his eyes but obliged her request. He hoisted himself out of the chair with a melodramatic groan. Blaise began picking up the scattered papers a strong gale had flung about the room. He paused, hunched over and stuffing papers slower than humanly possible back into a folder. He took the moment to watch her as she moved quickly around the office, shutting the windows. "You excited?"_

_"For what? A thunderstorm?" she had a silly expression on her face. Blaise didn't like it – he didn't know what it meant. No, he did like it, on second thought. It was quite cute._

_"No, your birthday. A day off – you haven't had one in ages. Don't shut the windows all the way – the air conditioner is broken, we're going to sweat to death!"_

_"Rain will get in otherwise, Zabini," she sounded annoyed, "you're a wizard, you can come up with something." She placed several of the files on his desk and sighed. "I don't know…"_

_"What. Don't like birthdays?" Blaise resisted the urge to reach out and touch her face. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Was it him, or was it hot in here? He felt like he was sweating._

_"No, it's not that…it's just…something is different this time. You know?" She looked at him imploringly. Blaise gulped. She was standing awfully close to him. He could just bend down and kiss her…_

_"I don't know," he said flatly, trying not to stare at her lips, "maybe you've finally realized that you're 25 years old and engaged to Weasley. That's the equivalent of becoming an old maid."_

_She rolled her eyes and walked back to her desk. She glanced at him over her shoulder, "Remember, all new files go under B – for birthday."_

Rosmerta leaned on the bar countertop and observed him quietly for a moment. She reached out and began messing with his tie, cheerily saying, "Loosen up Zabini!"

Zabini, despite his best efforts, chuckled at Madame Rosmerta's antics. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned his collar, allowing cool, precious access to his neck. "I'd tell you the same - but I don't think you can get any looser…" he waggled his eyebrows and smirked.

Rosmerta rolled her eyes, not even bothering to reply to his disgusting innuendo. Blaise noticed she had turned her attention to the subject of his gaze.

"Oh, so that's what has got your knickers in a twist." Blaise disliked the knowing look on her face. She sighed loudly and dramatically. "Why don't you just do something about it?"

Blaise stared at her, then Hermione, then returned his gaze back to Rosmerta. "I've been trying. For months."

Rosmerta pursed her lips before patting his hand comfortingly, "You're clever; surely you can come up with something." She left, glancing at him shortly, to make rounds with the other customers.

Yes. Something. Blaise rolled his eyes.

That is the whole reason he had covered for Hermione – no, _Granger_, he reminded himself – today. It was part of their deal from last week. It was her birthday, he had promised to handle all her appointments for today so she could spend the day doing whatever it is she does.

He remembered making that deal like it was yesterday. It was only last week it happened, he reminded himself. He had been trying to get her attention, make her finally notice him as someone other than a co-worker. He remembered only too well how it had been that day he realized he was head over heels in love with Hermione Granger.

He knew she must have felt something too. It was obvious, really, looking back on it. More than once he found himself remembering how she walked too close to him when they had left for the night; how she had laughed at his charming and witty conversation at the bar after work; how she lingered longer than necessary outside her apartment door after thanking him, again, for walking her home.

Blaise set his mug down and rummaged through his pockets, looking for a lighter. He accidently pulled out a few business cards. He looked at it quickly before shoving it back in his pocket and resuming the search for his silver lighter (it had been a gift from Hermione, even though she thought smoking was loathsome and disgusting). It was a rather nice business card. They had just come in last week.

Hermione had been rather jealous of it; he had seen the envy in her eyes." _It even has a watermark_," she had said her voice full of awe. Blaise snorted, only Granger would be obsessed with business cards. He triumphantly pulled his lighter out of his cloak and, in a single graceful movement, lit his cigarette.

He frowned. This would be a habit he would have to give up if he ever wanted to date Granger. She would never date a man who smoked – she had explicitly stated that the first night they had drinks.

Inspiration struck.

"Barkeep!" he called, his haughty drawl causing the bartender to scurry over quickly.

"What'll it be?" the man asked, cleaning a glass with a rag. He eyed Blaise's drink suspiciously, "Another?"

Blaise shook his head in the negative and leaned close to the man. "See that young witch over there? With the two redheads and Potter?" he nodded toward them. She was laughing at something Potter had said. A quick side-glance at the bartender confirmed the man knew of whom Blaise was speaking. "A pint for her – Fire whiskey. On me. Don't tell her who it's from though."

The man nodded and filled a mug full of the amber liquid.

Blaise watched a waiter weave through the crowded, smoky room toward their table. He leaned over and spoke with her as he placed the cup on the table. Her mouth made a little "o", gasping in surprise no doubt.

She had never had someone order a drink for her before. She admitted that to him several months ago on that night of their first ever after-work drink. It had been hard to convince her, she had still been wary of him at the time, but she agreed after he had made snide remark about her Gryffindor courage – or lack thereof.

It had become routine since then. Every Friday they would go to the pub to wind down after a long week. She jokingly referred to it as their bonding time. Blaise rather enjoyed it.

Blaise smirked as he watched Weasley and Potter's brows furrow in confusion – such a Gryffindor thing to do – and look around the restaurant. She-Weasel was smiling, no doubt thought it was cute.

"Who would do that?" He heard Ron's loud voice over the loud humming of general conversation. Blaise wrinkled his nose in disgust. How insulting! Who wouldn't send a beautiful witch a drink?

Blaise sipped his own drink. He could see Hermione shrugging and saying, "I don't know, Ronald.", but she looked up, and right at him.

She knew it had been him.

When their eyes met that night, through the crowded room, Blaise swore the rest of the world had melted away and time had slowed down. He had never thought he was a hopeless romantic, but it turns out he had been wrong.

That night, he fell a little bit more in love with Hermione Granger.

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**I will be honest when I say that I have only a slight idea where this story is headed. Hopefully everyone will enjoy it. Please review!**


	3. Gifts

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

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Hermione stared at the Fire Whiskey in front of her.

He was trouble. She knew it from the moment he walked into her office all those months ago.

_Hermione looked up from her desk when she heard a sharp rap on her door. Standing in the threshold, with a box of …things, was her new office mate. She nearly choked on her own spite. Beautiful Blaise Zabini. Bangin Babe Blaise. That is what all the girls at Hogwarts had called him, all those years ago. The only thing the Gryffindor and Slytherin female populace could agree on was that Bangin Babe Blaise was utterly and devastatingly handsome._

_He looked at her appraisingly before beginning to speak. "Looks like we'll be sharing an office, Granger," he said smoothly as he walked into the room, his long legs making quick work of the small area, "I didn't know you were in Family Law."_

_His voice…so smooth and deep, with a slight accent and pretentious drawl. She nearly melted._

_She remembered a time, 6th year, when she and Lavender had stumbled upon Millicent and Pansy – and a few others whom she did now know – in the bathroom, giggling over Zabini. It was a tense situation, Pansy ready to hex them until Lavender agreed with Millicent's sentiment of wondering "what, exactly, his body looked like under those robes," because surely, Lavender said, "Quidditch would make him nice and toned."_

_And there they had sat, in the bathroom, huddled together, whispering about Zabini. His voice, his beautiful deep tan, his smoldering dark eyes, his confident stride and the way he so expertly handled his wand. It had become something of a ritual. Once a week they would gather in that bathroom and share tales of their run-ins with the handsome boy, or funny stories, or dreams._

_Here he was, leaning so casually against a desk – his desk._

_Quidditch had indeed been good to him. His shirt was snug, revealing his toned and trim body. It briefly crossed her mind that none of them had ever thought he would be so thin. But he was. Had it been anyone else she would have called them tall and gangly – but it worked for Blaise._

_Blaise looked at her steadily, a look of slight confusion crossing his dark face. "Don't be so excited," he said meekly, running a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. She gulped. She wanted to run her hands through his hair… Hermione snapped to her senses._

_"I – uh, um." She shook her head. She needed to get a hold of herself! "I'm not in Family Law; Civil Rights," she looked at him questioningly. He was nodding in understanding. Blaise was in Family Law? "Bit ironic for you to be in it."_

_He smiled crookedly, pulling out a file cabinet drawer and peering into it, his nose wrinkling. "I'm the best at what I do." He shrugged._

_Hermione nodded nervously, butterflies in her stomach. "I bet. Lots of experience."_

_He let out a huff and pulled at his tie, "Well," he looked at his watch, "It's nearly 5, why don't you say we leave early and go for a drink?" Hermione's horror must have shown on her face, because he quickly retracted his statement. "Fine, fine. You stay here. I'll go for a drink," he paused at the door, hand messing with his tie once more, "But if you come with me, I'll tell you all about how experienced I am."_

_Hermione could not help but feel that had a double meaning. Dear Merlin she needed to stay away from him – far, far away – lest the temptation to snog him in a closet overtook her senses and she sent bragging letters to the Bangin Babe Blaise Club detailing her adventures. "Not tonight, Zabini."_

_He smirked. "One day I'll get you to. You'll love it. Breaking all the rules, I mean." _

_She had a feeling he was going to get her into a lot of trouble._

She couldn't lie to herself. She was attracted to him. It only became more apparent as she watched him lounging oh so elegantly at the bar – his tie loosened and off center, shirt ruffled and unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up revealing those amazing forearms, his slightly tussled hair…The bastard. That handsome, magnificent, charming bastard. He had sent her the drink.

He caught her staring at him, a small smirk gracing his features as he bore into her soul with the gorgeous dark eyes. He raised an eyebrow – so Slytherin – and tipped his glass toward her. She was sure her face was bright red. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

"Who would do that?" he was asking loudly as he pulled her closer.

"I don't know," she said distractedly. Ron's frown deepened. He pulled the cup toward him and began inspecting it.

She tore her eyes away from his slumped figure, before someone tried to follow her line of sight. Ron hated Blaise with an overly intense passion. Harry was wary of him also.

Blaise…

Off-limits, she reminded herself. She was off-limits. Engaged to a wonderful man. She turned her attention to Ron, who was frowning at her drink.

Ron certainly was not as attractive as Blaise, she admitted, but she was sure that he was The One. Ron, with his pale freckled skin and shock of red hair, Ron was the safe choice; she had known him all her life. Boring on paper, but perfect, comfortable, in real life. They were best friends. Blaise always said it was a problem that Ron had never truly gotten out of that "friend" category, but she refused to believe him.

Blaise was a fantasy – the dark, mysterious man with a troubled past and silver tongue, which was good on paper, but in real life…Hermione wasn't looking for that emotional roller coaster. It was an ongoing joke between them that he would seduce her with his Slytherin wiles and haughty good looks, but he had no idea how close she was to giving in.

She was torn.

She loved Ron…but one little romp with Blaise couldn't possibly hurt. In fact, it might even be good! She should get it out of her system before the wedding. But it would hurt Ron, wouldn't it? She would be acting unfaithfully.

Then there was the whole issue of working together – "Don't stick you're quill in the company inkpot," Luna had once told her. Apparently that was a rather famous saying in the Wizarding World.

No. Blaise was off-limits. She was off-limits. It would never – could never- happen.

She sighed , grabbed her drink – the one Blaise sent – from Ron's hand, and took a giant gulp. She nearly sputtered as she swallowed. The burning sensation could only mean he had sent her Fire Whiskey.

"What are you doing!" Ron cried, trying to retrieve the cup from her hand. This caused a decent amount of the amber liquid to slosh over the top and onto her pants.

"Drinking Ronald!" Hermione said. She frowned at the wet spot on her pants.

Ron gaped. "But it could be poisoned!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Ginny wrinkled her nose at her brother, "Ron, let her drink it! It's not poisoned for Merlin's sake. No need to be so paranoid. "

"Plus, it'd be a shame to waste a pint of Fire Whiskey…." Harry added, trailing off at Ron's glare. Harry suddenly became very interested in the one-legged witch two tables over.

"That it would be Potter," a familiar voice drawled. Hermione wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Malfoy." Harry said flatly. "To what do we owe this great pleasure?"

Draco Malfoy looked decidedly uncomfortable, she decided. He was hiding it well though. His eyes gravitated toward the bar before snapping back to the trio. "My wife tells me today is Granger's birthday," he grimaced, "she insisted I drop this off for her." He placed a light blue box on the table. "That is all. Have a good night." He nodded slightly and walked away quickly.

Hermione stared at the gift, unsure if this was a trick or not. Astoria was not particularly fond of her, but had grudgingly agreed that she was the best Civil Rights lawyer in the Wizarding world. But, a gift? Hermione had doubts that Astoria was that thankful.

Ron looked around open mouthed, "Merlin's beard! What is happening tonight? Blue moon?" Harry laughed into his cup.

"Is that…" Hermione picked up the box and examined it. She gasped, "It is!"

"Is what?" Ginny asked, peering curiously at the tiny gift, "open it!"

"It's from Tiffanys!" Hermione opened the box with shaky hands and pulled out a silver watch, gaping at it. Ginny let out a low whistle.

Harry nearly spit his drink on the table. "Tiffanys? As in the Muggle store?" he asked as he wiped some Butterbeer off of his chin. "That's a nice watch," he added as an after statement.

"What's the note say?" Ron asked, plucking a card from the box. "To Miss Granger – a wonderful witch and esteemed colleague who often loses track of time, happy birthday." Ron nodded slowly, "You _did_ need a watch," he conceded, giving the silver object a gloomy look.

"It must have cost a fortune," Ginny was saying.

Hermione's eyes widened comically as she realized how much a watch of this caliber must have cost. She started to object as Ron helped her tighten the clasp on her wrist, saying how it was more of a collector's item, that she might lose it or scratch the surface.

"Oh leave it be Hermione," Harry said, "at least for tonight. What's the worst that could happen-" he shrugged at her glare, "- ok, so maybe the worst that can happen is we break into Gringotts and steal a dragon – but what are the odds of that happening?" She couldn't help herself, she laughed. Ginny snickered.

"I'd rather we didn't do that again," Ron said bemusedly, between his own breaths of laughter.

"Oh all right," she said, "just for tonight." She smiled to herself. It truly was a beautiful watch. She'd have to write Astoria a thank you letter in the morning.

Someone cleared their throat and silenced the laughter at the table. Hermione looked up. Oh god, no…

"Weasley," he nodded, "She-Weasel, Scar Head," he smirked as he caught her eyes, "Birthday girl."

"Zabini," Ginny started, drowning out Hermione's own protests to Blaise's name calling, "What do you want? First Malfoy now you…"

Blaise actually looked affronted. "Tone, She-Weasel," he said quietly, "I merely stopped by to wish Granger a happy birthday – since I didn't see her in the office today." He sent Hermione a pointed look, one meant to reminder her of everything he has done for her, that he wasn't going to let her forget it.

"Well, you've done that, now leave," Ron said, his face turning a bright shade of red. Blaise frowned slightly. He plucked at his tie – a tell tale sign that he was nervous, Hermione had learned.

Blaise ignored Ron's comment, focusing instead on Hermione. "Happy birthday, Granger," he said, his eyes travelling over her body, resting on her wrist, "Nice watch. Maybe you'll be to work on time for a change." He nodded sharply; his lips pressed in a thin line, and turned quickly on his heel.

Hermione's heart pumped viciously in her throat. One little romp wouldn't hurt, right?

This was it.

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**Guesses as to what happens next? Reviews are awesome :)  
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	4. Elevator

Blaise pulled at his silk green tie and unfastened the top buttons on his white silk shirt, revealing a white cotton undershirt. Hermione's mouth dried as she watched him.

_Lawyers, it seemed, arrived earlier to the Ministry of Magic than anyone else, Hermione thought as her heels clacked noisily against the tile floor of the atrium. There were a few security guards milling about, a man in a yellow robe stacking newspapers at a stand, and Zabini standing patiently with his foot at the door of an elevator. She hurriedly sidled into the elevator, giving her coworker a small smile of thanks._

_"Even with that brand new watch you can't manage to be on time," he said as the elevator door slid shut. He had already pressed the buttons for their floors._

_She rolled her eyes. "I am on time; you just decided to hold the lift for me. That's hardly my fault."_

_"Ah, you've got your esquire voice on already." He gave her an easy smile. "Why's that? Trouble at the home front with a certain soulless ginger? Did you need to- OW FUCK!"_

_The elevator gave a sudden lurch and shuddered ominously. Hermione stumbled forward, spilling her files over the floor._

_"I bit my fucking tongue, Merlin's saggy left ball-"_

_"Shut up!" She screeched. Blaise stared at her open mouthed as she bent over to reassemble her papers. She stood and glared hard at him. "Things with Ronald are fine. As I've told you before, it's none of your business. Just – just leave it alone! I love him and I'm sick of you…I'm sick of you always picking on him!"_

_Blaise looked at her reproachfully. "Fine."_

She liked the way his smooth dark skin contrasted with the pale, crisp shirt. The way the muscles in his arms, bare to the elbow, moved as he loosened his tie. The way he sneered as he pulled at the fabric that was clinging to his body, damp with sweat. His dark, brooding eyes met hers and her heart lept to her throat.

_"So he wasn't mad?" Blaise asked some time later, arms still crossed, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them._

_Hermione looked at him, surprised. "About what?"_

_He shrugged, unhelpful as always. She waited for a reply, but when none came she sighed loudly and leaned against the wall. It was getting hot in the small elevator, and Blaise seemed to agree. He had taken off his robe and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows._

_Hermione followed his lead and took her own dark blue robe off, folded is neatly and placed it on the floor next to her._

_"Thank you for the gift," she said quietly. "It was…its very nice. And thoughtful. I'm sure if Ron knew it was from you…he would have been…" She trailed off and Blaise merely blinked at her. He was uncharacteristically quiet today, no sly smile on his face. It unnerved her._

_"What's the matter with you today, Zabini?" She asked, not able to stand his sullenness any longer. "Hungover?"_

_He ran a hand through his thick hair. It was getting long, he would get it cut soon. She knew he hated it when his hair got "too long" – he had told her once that he felt like a shaggy dog if his hair wasn't neatly cropped. "Something like that, Granger," he answered, a small smile finally gracing his face. Hermione liked it when he smiled._

Hermione suddenly found the ceiling more interesting than his lithe form, and fanned herself with a client's folder. She could feel the sweat trickling down her neck and back. It was sweltering in the small elevator. The longer they'd been in here the thicker the air had gotten.

She heard him curse softly, threats of murder emanating from his lips.

"I don't think threatening to cut off their fingers and feed them to manticores is going to make them fix the elevator faster, Zabini," she huffed.

He didn't answer.

_"How long do you think we've been in here?" She asked him. The air was stuffy and she was starting to sweat._

_He gave her a dark look and checked his watch. "According to my extremely accurate and reliable scientific experiments I would say about 45 minutes."_

_She scowled. Her hair was frizzing and now they were very late for work. "The engineering wizards should have fixed it by now… I wonder if something has happened."_

_Blaise snorted loudly behind a folder. He was reading her file on Mitchell Hillder, the wizard who was suing East Bay House Elf Trading Company over a house elf who refused to work. "Paycuts is what happened, Granger."_

_"We're late for work," she stated. Blaise muttered that he knew, but Hermione ignored him. "This is simply unacceptable."_

_Blaise let his head fall back against the wall, "If you don't shut up, I may have to slaughter you. Then ickle R-then your fiancé would actually have a reason to hate me."_

_"I distinctly remember you telling me that if you were to ever murder someone, you would do so in a way that no one would ever know it was murder. You'd make it look like natural causes." She smiled, remembering that conversation. It had been during the first night they had gone for drinks together after work. Blaise claimed a Slytherin would never get caught, they were too crafty._

_"I don't remember that."_

_"Well, I do. So you would make it look like I died of heat stroke? Suffocation? Which one? " It was morbid, she admitted it, but Hermione wanted to talk to him – about anything. She just wanted to hear his deep voice, his full-bellied laugh.  
_

_Blaise gave her a long look as he handed back her file, his eyes narrowed in thought. "I would make it look like you bled to death."_

_She snatched the file from his hand, thumbing through the pages. "That isn't your style." She noticed he had written little notes about the case in the margins._

_"Well, you're special."_

_"I think it has more to do with upsetting Ron than me being special."_

_He held her eyes for a long moment. "No."_

_They lapsed into another silence._

Hermione frowned slightly, her manila folder still in her hand, and turned to look at him. She nearly jumped out of her skin. He was not slouched against the silver wall of the elevator, where she had last seen him, looking ruffled and grumpy. He was looming over her, hand pulling at his collar once more.

She could feel his hot breath, coming out in little puffs, on her cheek. She felt his arm at her side, his fingers lightly, tentatively, touching her, as if he didn't know what to do. His eyes, those giant chocolate eyes, seemed to be taking in every inch of her slowly – as she'd seen him do from afar a dozen times before, but never like this.

His half hooded gaze lowered, following a bead of sweat that had rolled down her face and neck, and chest. He raised an eyebrow appreciatively and pushed his body against hers. His hand cupped her face and his mouth went to her ear.

_"We've been talking and-"_

_"Who is we?"_

_"Ron and I."_

_"Oh."_

_"I think I've got him convinced that it would be okay, maybe even enjoyable if…"_

_"If…."_

_"If you came to our wedding."_

_"I don't think that's a very good idea."_

_"Ron doesn't either."_

_"He's right."_

_"He thinks he has to fight you off. Like you're going to steal me from him! I told him he was being silly-"_

_"Is that why he hates me?"_

_"No. Well, maybe. You are a Slytherin."_

_"Ridiculous."_

_"Which part?"_

_"All of it."_

_"Oh. Well I would like to have you there."_

_"As a coworker-"_

_"As a friend."_

The elevator lurched suddenly, but he did not move.

"If those sorry excuses for wizards did not get this elevator operational, I would have done far worse things to them then cut off their fingers and feed them to manticores, dearest Hermione," he drawled in her ear. The elevator dinged loudly, a tinny voice announcing their arrival at "The Department of International Family Law, Main Branch", and Hermione was suddenly free of him.

"My stop!" He said cheerily, giving her a jaunty wave as he stepped off the elevator and into a hallway filled with white paper planes and men in dark blue robes.

As the doors slid shut, Hermione wished that the elevator had stayed broken for a little longer.


End file.
